


Gratitude

by tveckling



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Like 90 percent of fic doesn't need warning, Love Confessions, M/M, No actual kissing or sex though, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Non-Graphic Violence, Pining, Post-Resident Evil 4, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:33:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23569888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tveckling/pseuds/tveckling
Summary: At the root of it all there is one thought, one desire, that keeps popping up. He wants to meet him, wants to meet Leon, wants to meet this man who has done so much with so little. He wants to see him, and speak with him, and find out what sort of person he is, why Chris can't stop thinking about him.
Relationships: Leon S. Kennedy/Chris Redfield
Comments: 6
Kudos: 108





	Gratitude

**Author's Note:**

> Birthday gift to my beloved helig ilyyyyyy

It began long before Chris was even aware, back when all he had was a name and an email that he soon forgot about in his concern about his sister. It began long before the name brought the image of a sardonic smile, a deep voice delivering a cutting remark, the feel of a calloused hand gripping his. It began simple, a whisper of gratitude settling within his bones, waiting until it would be time to start growing into something else. Something more. Waiting for when the very mention of that name would set his nerves aflame and his heart rushing. And then he'd look back, and he'd know where it all began. And he'd be grateful.

  
  


\-----

  
  


Distantly he can hear someone talking, and if he'd been more alert he might've recognized Jill's voice. Might even have realized who exactly she was talking to. But his full attention is on the report in his hands, and he registers no sound apart from the soft rustling as he turns pages.

"-like talking to the dead. Hey, _Chris_."

A light slap at the top of his head brings him back to the world he inhabits with a jerk, and it only takes a quick look at Jill's raised eyebrow for Chris to sheepishly lower the papers.

"Welcome back to reality," Jill says and crosses her arms as she sits easily on top of his desk.

"Sorry." 

Jill doesn't acknowledge his apology, just gestures towards the papers he's still holding. "Honestly, is that report really so fantastic? This is the third time I've seen you read it, and I don't even want to think about how many times you've read it at home or something. And you still get so wrapped up in it that you become unreachable. Is there something in there I missed, or have you just developed a fascination with mutated parasites?"

It feels like his face is burning, but Chris hopes it's just his imagination as he makes a grimace and puts the whole folder on his desk, making a show of letting go of it. He pretends he doesn't feel the need to scoop it back right up. 

Hm. Maybe Jill has a point, maybe he is too attached to the thing.

"So." Clearing his throat Chris looks up at Jill, firmly ignoring the bemused smirk of her face. Sometimes it feels like she knows him way too well. "What were you saying?"

"Right. Well, if it suits you to listen finally we have a possible B.O.W. incident." Jill reaches behind her and picks up a folder, opening it up and scanning the text. "We've gotten news of attacks in Russia, near the Kolyma Mountains. An unknown man wandered into a small village there, where he soon died from injuries—before he passed, however, he spoke-"

Slowly Jill's voice drifted away, almost without Chris noticing it. His eyes drift down to the report again, and his fingers drum lightly, restlessly, against the wooden surface of his desk. Umbrella and their viruses. Los Illuminados and their parasites. Both horrible weapons, terrible in the destruction they can bring. And it blows his mind thinking about how a single man could survive fighting both. 

Leon Kennedy. Survivor of Raccoon City. Destroyer of Los Illuminados. He can barely imagine it, this man facing the horrors described in the report, all on his own, and then coming out of the experience with only minor wounds.

The village, infested with infected people and mutated animals, as well as what can only be called monsters. B.O.W.s, appearing once again. Mercenaries. Leon, fighting through it all as he works to protect and bring home the President's daughter. And during most of it he'd been fighting the parasite he'd been injected with, knowing that if he took too long it'd hatch and he would become just another mindless host.

Several times Chris has tried to picture it all, following along with the events as written, and imagine himself going through it on his own, without even Jill at his side. Only a voice in his ear giving him occasional information. And he's amazed, because he can only see himself failing. But this man didn't. He fought enemies taken straight from someone's nightmares, resurrected comrades, humans and animals and creatures you couldn't call either—and he survived, and he made it back home, his charge none the worse for wear.

And Chris keeps wondering what sort of person is capable of such a thing, while receiving only the barest amount of help.

Of course, he remembers USSTRATCOM agent Leon Kennedy, remembers how he'd contacted Chris to tell him how Claire was in trouble. Several years younger than Chris, and even several years younger than Claire—his baby sister, so small, so young, even though he knows she's now a grown woman—is now when he had to survive the hell Raccoon City had become after Chris left. But he doesn't know this person, and it keeps nagging at him. The report keeps slipping into his mind, and Chris just can't stop thinking about it. About the short and professional, almost casual way Leon describes the horrible battles he fought. About what he must've gone through while trying to survive in Raccoon. About how he still, even despite all that, clearly cares about other people—his concern for Claire, how he fought so to keep Ashley Graham safe, it all speaks volume about how the man cares.

At the root of it all there is one thought, one desire, that keeps popping up. He wants to meet him, wants to meet Leon, wants to meet this man who has done so much with so little. He wants to see him, and speak with him, and find out what sort of person he is, why Chris can't stop thinking about him.

"Honestly… I don't know why I bother sometimes. Head as thick as his bicep."

He doesn't hear Jill's sigh, doesn't see how she throws her hands in the air and goes back to her own desk, several of their colleagues chuckling. He looks at the report again, itching to grab it again and scour the text, looking for _something_ , though he doesn't know what. There's a feeling in his chest, something nagging at him, and he just can't stop wondering.

  
  


\-----

  
  


"Alright, I'll talk to you soon. Don't get yourself in any more shit, okay, or I'll fly over and yell at you so hard you'll never stop hearing my voice," Chris says, rubbing his face. Claire laughs at the other end of the call, as though he's joking.

"Sure thing, mom. Talk to you soon. Love you."

"Love you too, brat."

With a sight he looks at the now dark screen, feeling the urge to throw everything aside—throw away the damn mission he's on, someone else can do it—to go shake some sense into his sister's head. But he just puts the phone on the nightstand and falls back down on the bed, a groan leaving his lips. Of course he can't. These things are a matter of life and death, and Claire's not in any trouble. Any longer.

He stares up at the ceiling, his chest tight as he thinks back to everything Claire told him, everything he'd read before that. It kills him, knowing that his baby sister was in terrible danger while he was half across the world in Asia. He wasn't even doing anything, just idly waiting for information they needed to continue their investigation. Claire could have died, and he'd-

Shaking his head he pushes himself up again, walks barefoot over to the window and stares out at the neon lights. Despite the light there aren't that many people up and about. Jill's asleep in the next room, or should be, anyway. He's alone, no one watching him or his actions.

The laptop is heavy on his thighs as he sits down once more on the bed. But it's a comforting weight, and he can already feel a little of that tightness ease as he boots up the machine. Jill would mock him if she knew what he was doing, but he's alone, so he can do whatever he wants. And ever since he found out about what Claire had been through, _who_ had been there with her, there has only been one actual thought in his head. A name.

After dealing with Il Veltro once and for all and the BSAA's major reform there hasn't been much, or any, time for Chris to just rest. Not that he wants any; he's always felt better on foot, doing something. But it feels like he's starting to forget what it's like to not have exhaustion radiate through his every bone. But there's one thing, he's discovered, that can help put him at ease and bring comfort so he can turn off the images in his head and finally accept sleep.

By now he's read the various reports of Agent Leon Kennedy enough times to know most of them word for word, but he still skims through them, feeling the tightness ease even more as he reads the familiar words. It was through his newest report that Chris first found out about the incident, and his sister's part in it, and he can only thank god that the President had sent Leon. Who knows if someone else had been able to do what he did. Perhaps, if he hadn't been there, Claire would have-

But it helps, as it always does, reading the reports. At times the professionalism breaks, and Chris finds himself actually smiling as he reads a less-than-kind observation Leon made about Senator Davis. He wonders about the man as he continues reading, comparing the events described to what Claire told him. Wonders how professional he remains in person, how often that sarcasm comes through when he isn't writing an official document for the government. Chris knows how different the language in his own reports are compared to how he usually speaks.

Perhaps he spends too much time thinking about the other man, and perhaps it's weird that he feels so calmed by the other's words, but it's just because he feels a sort of familiarity to him, a certain camaraderie. They're two people who've gone through really fucking situations, and who both got drawn into this world in Raccoon. And Chris is grateful that Leon exists, not just from how he's helped save Claire several times now.

He closes the report and purses his lips, hesitating shortly before pulling up the folder with the photos he's saved.

Leon can be found in all of them, which is why he's saved them—sometimes bloody and beaten up, sometimes looking pristine and bored out of his mind, sometimes barely visible in the background as he's focused on some paper or a conversational partner. In one Leon is standing with former President Graham's beaming daughter hanging onto his arm, smiling fondly as he looks at the girl—it never fails in making warmth flood Chris' chest and wipe away whatever stress he'd been feeling. The photos are all official and documented and easy to find, and therefore not weird or creepy at all, no matter what Jill says. A couple of them were even printed in newspapers—the fact that he cut out and scanned them is nothing. He just wants to get closer to this man that he feels a connection to, that's all.

True, Leon is a very attractive man, Chris can admit that. But that's not at all why he's saved the pictures for when he needs to destress. Not completely. He's just interested, that's all. He wants to know more about this man. Wants to know all he can. That's all.

And he keeps clicking away, studying picture after picture, not even noticing how his earlier anxiety and worry has both dissolved. 

  
  


\----- 

  
  


He's going to die. He's going to just keel over and perish, right there on the spot. How could the world be so cruel to him, giving him the meeting he's been wanting for for what feels like half a lifetime but is actually only less than one year? How can it happen when he's unprepared like this, out on a mission in a random city in cold-ass snowy Canada, standing in a convenience store with his arms full of snacks and drinks that Jill ordered him to get? He wasn't expecting anything to happen, much less to end up face to face with freaking Leon Kennedy himself, in actual person, breathing and moving and looking understandably startled as he stares at Chris.

Maybe it hadn't been such a good idea to blurt out the man's name the moment his brain registered who was in front of him, but in his defense Chris was very tired and he really hadn't been prepared for something like this at all.

"Oh- uh, I'm not- Chris. I'm Chris Redfield," Chris quickly manages, feeling like he only has moments before Leon reaches for any of the weapons he surely has hidden beneath the thick jacket. That's what Chris would've done. "Claire's brother."

Claire's name makes the subtle movements of Leon's hand stop, and some guarded suspicion leaves his face. "Claire?"

"Yeah, I'm sure she's told you about me? You helped her last month, with the WillPharma incident? I've been meaning to thank you for that. And for contacting me, well, all those years ago, when she was in trouble on Rockfort Island. I suppose, uh, I've been wanting to thank you for a long time," Chris finishes lamely, feeling like he'd really just prefer to drop everything he's holding and just turn around and walk out of there. However he'd imagined his first meeting with Leon to go, it was nowhere like _this_. Thank god Jill wasn't with him; he'd never hear the end of it.

But his awkwardness seems to have been enough, as Leon nods, the corner of his mouth quirked as he lowers his face a little. "Ah, that's- there's no need for that. Claire's tough, and she can handle herself. I'm just glad I could be there to guard her back."

According to both his own report and what Claire said he did a hell of a lot more than that, but Chris tells himself to leave it. He glances down at the armful he's carrying, then glances around. "I'd really like to talk with you some more. Maybe, once I've paid for all this, you'd like to go somewhere? Else. Uh. If you're not busy, of course."

Leon blinks, and for a moment Chris gets the image of a deer caught in headlights. He's about to quickly retract his proposition, so he can run back to the hotel and cry on his bed about what a fool he is, but Leon puts his hands in his pockets with a shrug. He looks calm, but it's all too clear to Chris that he's avoiding looking him in the face—whether out of embarrassment or something else is impossible to say. "Why not. Since it's New Year's and I have a meeting early in the morning I'd planned to stay in my hotel room and try to keep out as much of the noise as possible. So you understand if I can't stay with you for too long. And I hope you know some place without too many loud people."

"What about my hotel?" Chris says without thinking, already flinching from the words as he hears himself say them, and he sees by Leon's raised eyebrow that it sounded just the way to him as it did for Chris. "No, I mean, there's a bar next door to the hotel I'm at. And I know it's open, and when I left there were no people there. My partner's the one who requested I buy most of this, you see, and I could quickly go and hand it over to her, and then join you again. That's what I was thinking," he trails off, wondering once again why the world had decided to torment him this way.

Leon purses his lips, but then shrugs again, giving a quick lopsided smile that makes Chris tingle. "Doesn't sound worse than being cooped up in my own room and trying in vain to sleep. Lead the way, I'll follow."

"Right. I'll just-" Chris motion's with his armful of snacks, making Leon chuckle—and as he turns towards the counter with burning ears Chris knows that's not a sound he's going to forget. 

As he pays he can't stop thinking about his every word, his every movement and gesture, the tone and expressions he uses. He's never been so aware of himself before, not in this way, and it's messing with his head. Of course, it doesn't help that compared to his pile Leon's only buying a single bag of potato chips.

"I was craving gummy worms," Leon starts casually when they're leaving the store, almost making Chris flinch by the abrupt end of the silence. He'd been trying to convince himself to say something himself, but hadn't managed to find something that didn't sound stupid even as he thought it.

When he looks over Leon's opening his bag, with the ease of someone far too used to such bags, and Chris wonders how often Leon has snacks cravings. Suddenly he desperately wants to know, wants to know all about the other man's likes and dislikes, his habits, every small detail of his life.

Thankfully Leon keeps talking, and Chris can bite back the questions. 

"They didn't have any, of course, because it's not enough to be sent to a random desolate Canadian small town on New Year's Eve. I would've rebelled if they hadn't had any chips, I'll tell you." And Chris finds himself smiling again as Leon waves a potato chip in his direction, huffing once before biting into the snack. "At least you can always count on Lay's."

"True that. They're everywhere. You should try the Japanese selection, they have some flavors I hadn't even thought possible."

"Oh, yeah? I'll keep that in mind for next time I'm over there."

Chris grins, and it feels like he's about to take flight when Leon gives him an answering smile. In all of the photos Chris has gathered Leon is only wearing something close to a smile in a handful of them, and even fewer shows a genuine smile. But even though he has seen the expression Chris simply wasn't prepared for what it's like to be faced with it himself. Though the smiles are fleeting he feels like he's been punched by sunlight every time he sees the other man's face softening, his eyes seeming to sparkle. And his mouth. Chris finds he has trouble not looking at Leon's lips, whether the other man's talking or chewing or wetting his lips, or just simply breathing.

It feels like the night's going to be extremely long, and he wonders how in the world he's going to keep himself from making a fool of himself. More than he surely already has. Leon's talking, sharing his observations of the town and its inhabitants, and Chris wants nothing more than to stay like this, sparks flying through his body as their shoulders occasionally brush each other as they walk, Leon's voice caressing his ears, the earthy trace of Leon's cologne making him dizzy every time he manages to catch it.

It's a wonder he has enough of a brain left to give his own observations, telling Leon about parts of the town he apparently hadn't had the chance to study yet. And the sight of Leon's eyes on him, his face attentive and serious, nodding every now and then before adding some questions about details—Chris doesn't know what he's done to deserve this moment, but he's eternally grateful.

As he raises his bag with snacks, promising he'll be quick, before separating from Leon to go into the hotel, he can acutely feel how hard his heart's beating. And one thought goes through his head as he hurries to the room he shares with Jill, wanting nothing more than to hurry back to Leon's side. There might perhaps be some truth to what Jill's been saying; this fascination of his seems to be something else. Something much more than just simple interest.

  
  


\-----

  
  


It's been more than two weeks, now. Two weeks of silence. Chris has sent a couple extra messages, making them as casual as he can, but has otherwise forced himself to remain calm. But Leon hasn't emailed or texted back or called, and it's been over _two weeks_.

Since they met that random day in Canada, they've been in almost constant contact. It's been far more freeing than Chris had imagined, to talk with someone who's experienced Raccoon, who also lives to stamp out every instance of B.O.W.s. Someone who hasn't been with him from the beginning, like Jill or Claire. Leon has so much to say, so many observations and theories and so much experience, and the two of them have spent many an hour over the phone exchanging experiences and theories. He's discovered that Leon has a wicked sense of humor, often sarcastic and cutting, and Chris loves listening to him vent about this or that politician getting in the way of his investigations.

For three months they've been communicating, finding the time to at the very least send the other a small message every day. Two weeks of silence is so unlike Leon, and the worry has become an almost physical sensation, making it impossible for Chris to focus on anything. All he can think about is the last message he got, where Leon talked about a new mission—but it was just supposed to be a low risk investigation.

Clearly something must have gone wrong. With every passing day Chris grows more frustrated, finding the idea of going to demand the answers he wants out of _someone_ increasingly hard to ignore. There must be someone in the government he can talk to, someone who knows what the hell's happened.

"Chris."

Jerking his head around he spots Jill, standing with crossed arms as she watches him from the doorway of the office. There's worry on her face, obvious to see, and the annoyance constantly accompanying Chris takes a backseat to a twinge of guilt, even if for just a few seconds. He knows he's probably treated Jill, and the rest of their coworkers, like shit lately. But he can't help it, can't find it in himself to actually care, because Leon's in trouble, he _knows_ it, and he doesn't fucking know what to do or even where to go to do something, and it's driving him out of his goddamn mind.

"If you'll stop foaming at the mouth for a short while I have information you might be interested in," Jill says, ignoring his glare—oh, his guilt is so forgotten now—and coming into the room proper to sit down on one of the chairs. She pointedly looks at Chris, surely waiting for him to sit down too. He just as pointedly ignores the silent command, crossing his arms instead.

"It's about Agent Kennedy."

The words pierce him like bullets, and hadn't it been Jill sitting there, calmly watching him, he would've done- something, he doesn't know what, only that he would've regretted it later. But it is Jill, so once he manages to get his body under control he sits down on the closest chair, staring at her. " _Tell me._ "

Jill purses her lips, then crosses her legs. "Twelve days ago the connection to Kennedy was lost, and there hasn't been any success in getting a hold of him again. A team was sent to find out what happened, but they have also become M.I.A. The higher ups are considering them all deceased, and are currently debating what actions to take next."

It's not true. It can't be. The words leave his ears ringing, a hollow sensation in his chest. It can't be true. This is Leon they're talking about. Nothing can kill him, because he's _Leon fucking Kennedy_. He _can't_ die. He just _can't_. Yet those bastards above are just going to leave him?

Absently Chris feels himself shaking, and he can taste blood. "What the _hell_ -"

"Save your yelling." The look Jill gives him is hard, yet behind it Chris can feel her concern. She loves him, he knows, just as much as he loves her. And she knows him just as well as he knows her, and that's why he already knows the spirit of what she's going to say before she's finished sighing. "I'm in contact with an FSO agent named Ingrid Hunnigan, who was the one in charge of supporting Leon when he went missing. She's promised to give us any and all information she has that might help us locate him. I already have a helicopter on the way to get us to his last known location."

Chris doesn't think as he jumps to his feet, already about to rush out the room. But he stops himself, looks back at Jill who's rising in a far calmer fashion. "Jill… thank you. I-"

"Don't have to say anything." Jill grins and punches his shoulder. "We're partners. I got your back, no matter what, big guy. Now let's go get your man, and show everyone else why we're the best."

He's moving on so quickly it doesn't even occur to him to protest what Jill said, but when he can think again he wonders if he should've. After all, he hasn't even admitted his feelings to someone else, much less Leon himself. There is no 'your man', in any meaning of the phrase. But even so, whatever feeling may lie between them, Leon is still a treasured friend, and Chris will be damned if he leaves him for dead.

\-----

  
  


It comes as no surprise to find the village crawling with B.O.W.s once they arrive. It's not the typical sort of shambling zombies Chris is used to, and from his observations he concludes that these must be the victims of the Plagas parasite from Leon's report. His anxiety worsens as he draws his conclusion, because such a connection can't bode well.

Time's of the essence, particularly so with this discovery, and Jill doesn't argue when he suggests splitting up—although her expression clearly betrays her misgivings. Chris would reassure her, tell her that he's not going to lose his mind and rush in without caution, but she boxes his shoulder and tells him to be careful, and then she's gone. Just as well, because Chris actually doesn't know if he'd be able to follow the assurances. He has to find Leon, that's all he can think of, and damn everything else.

He readies his gun, and from there on his world narrows. It's hiding, aiming, killing, dodging, killing. Searching for Leon, trying to find any trace of the other man. Zombies, and Leon, Leon, _Leon_.

The church is the biggest building in view, and it's no coincidence that Chris sets his sight on it. In his experience whoever's masterminding these sorts of situations can usually be found in the most important places. And when he slips through the door and hears ominous chanting he should feel satisfaction—all he feels, however, is the increased tightness in his chest, because this is it. This is where they must be keeping Leon.

It's a good thing he didn't promise Jill to be careful, because he doesn't like breaking promises, and there is no thought of stealth as he goes into the main sanctuary, readying his gun. Fury blazes in his veins, even as shouts rise as he's noticed, because these are the people who have hurt Leon, who've hidden him away and done _who knows what_ to him. And facing them now all sorts of horrible images play behind Chris' eyelids, feeding his rage. He doesn't give any of them a chance to gather and attack him before he starts firing.

The next few minutes are a haze, where all Chris can think of is fighting. Killing every last one of these fucking bastards. He won't let even a single one of them escape, and he uses the full force of his weaponry and experience and skills to make sure of it.

The leader ends up the last of them, a mutated piece of shit that gives Chris more trouble than he's worth, than Chris has time or patience for. And he's clearly out of his mind, continuously babbling nonsense about retribution and Saddler's vision and God, most of which passes Chris by without much notice—until the monster falters, finally, and in the midst of furious cursing he hears a familiar name that stops him in his tracks. And the monster laughs, taunts him, tells him he's too late to be of any use. He might not be able to succeed Lord Saddler's vision, but at least he's gotten the chance to punish the reviled man who brought them down.

Chris' mind is full of cacophonous silence as he fills the man with lead, until finally the body stops twitching. The last words of the mad man hang in the air, but Chris desperately doesn't hear them. He knew Leon was here, and he was right. He's right. Leon is here, somewhere. Waiting for someone to come for him. Has to be, because he's Leon, and he's survived worse than whatever these bastards could possibly throw at him. He _has_ to live.

So Chris leaves the corpses behind and continues his search, blood boiling in his veins, heart hammering in his chest. The stone in his gut grows heavier with every door he opens, every room he doesn't find Leon in. But he continues, because he knows Leon must be here somewhere, he _knows_. And he _will_ find him.

The church is quiet now, so when he hears muffled sounds as he goes down into the basement he cocks his gun once more, readying himself outside the door. But nothing could prepare him for the sight that meets him when he bursts into the room, and he chokes as he takes an involuntary step back. Nausea churns in the pit of his stomach, and he doesn't know whether to be sick or to just scream.

The room is small and dark, with boxes stacked in one corner making it look more like a storage room than anything else. The only light comes from the flickering light of a single lamp hanging from the ceiling. But it's enough, _more_ than enough, to let him see exactly what's going on.

On the floor, just out of his reach, lies Leon, naked, his arms and legs spread—chained, his wrists and ankles fitted with shackles that connect to chains forcing his body into its current position. A man is kneeling above him, groaning mindlessly as he thrusts into Leon's limp body. Even with all the gunshots and screaming, even with Chris bursting into the room, the man hasn't reacted.

It doesn't matter if the man is a B.O.W. or a person, he's dead and riddled with bullets before Chris is even aware of himself firing. The shots ring in his ears as the body slumps forward, like a puppet with cut strings, and Chris can't feel his body as he throws his gun aside, rushing forward to rip the body out of and away from Leon.

Leon, whose skin can barely be seen under layers of blood and bruises and cuts and come. The bloody shackles show that Leon did struggle, but now he lies limp and unmoving as Chris bends over him, out of his mind with fear that it's too late, that _he's_ too late, because it sure seems like it. Leon's face is turned to the side, his eyes open but horrifyingly blank— _dead_ —and Chris can't see if his chest rises or not.

The thought echoes in his head, grows stronger, becomes a scream, as Chris stares. He's too late. He failed. He failed. _Leon_.

No. No, he can't. It can't be. If there's a god above, if someone can hear him praying, _please_ don't make him be too late.

"Leon," Chris whispers, not recognizing his own voice. He repeats the name, louder, again and again.

Then, at the—hesitant, shaking, _terrified_ —touch of Chris' hand at his cheek, Leon stirs, draws breath into his lungs, slowly blinks. And Chris could cry, feels the sob well up in his throat, because _he's not too late._

"Leon, thank _god_."

But Leon turns his face, and he looks up at Chris, and there's nothing but broken, naked horror on his face. Chris quickly reaches out again, wanting to soothe, meaning to reassure, but his heart breaks when Leon flinches away.

"Leon, it's me, there-"

" _Go away!_ " Leon's voice is painful to hear, hoarse and raspy, cracking as he spits out the words. The chains rattle as he tries to move, tries to get _away_ from Chris. "Oh, god, this can't be happening. Why are _you_ here? God, no, no."

"Leo- calm down, you're okay, it's okay. I'm here to get you out."

But it's like Leon can't hear his words, and Chris chokes on impotent rage and despair as he watches Leon twist as he tries to get away. The chains stay in place, making his efforts futile, and Chris knows he has to stop this, has to calm Leon down before he worsens his injuries.

Leon's crying. Chris has the feeling he's not even aware of it.

Taking a deep, calming breath Chris snaps out, "Agent Kennedy!"

The effect is more than he dared to hope, if he'd been thinking, as Leon freezes, then slowly blinks up at him. There's still the naked trepidation on his face, and he breathes hard, his entire body trembling. But at least he's stopped damaging himself further in his attempt to escape.

"Agent Kennedy. Leon." Chris softens his tone, now that it seems Leon's actually listening to him. "We're here to rescue you, me and my partner. The leader behind this whole operation is dead, so there is nothing more to fear. Jill's out there, cleaning up, and Hunnigan is on standby ready to send in a helicopter to pick us up and get us the hell out of here."

After he's done with the short report he waits, expecting Leon to respond in some way, with questions or comments or admonishments about keeping him waiting. But nothing comes. Leon just stays silent, avoiding looking at Chris.

It makes Chris want to scream, makes him want to shake Leon and demand to know what they did to make him like this, makes him want to go back to the corpses and shoot them even more, until no part of the bodies remains. 

As though any of that will help. So he breathes again and focuses on the next step: getting Leon out. "I need to remove those chains. I don't have a key, though… you don't know where to find it?"

Leon doesn't move, doesn't say anything, and Chris forces back the sigh. "Okay."

It's hard to get up, because he doesn't want to leave Leon behind, but he forces himself to go over to the corpse in the room and ruffle through the pockets. Nothing. A quick search of the rest of the room also yields nothing, and he kneels next to one of Leon's wrists, staring at the chain. 

He could go, search the building, because the keys are most likely to be somewhere in there. But that would mean leaving Leon behind, leaving him like this, and Chris will _not_ do that, feels the scream building at the sheer thought of it. That means he can only see one option.

"I'm going to shoot the links," he explains as he takes out his pistol. "We'll have to leave the shackles on, but this way I'll be able to get you out of here. I'm sorry," he adds after a short pause, because he is. He's more sorry than he can ever properly express.

"No." Leon's voice is still quiet, still painful to listen at, but there's steel in it, and Chris' head swivels around to stare at him. "Remove it all. I want it all gone."

"But, Leon- the least risky way of doing that is to hammer the shackles open with my knife, and that would still hurt you. It's better to leave them on, and someone at the hospital will-"

" _I want them gone_." Finally Leon looks at him, and the pain in his face makes all words die on Chris' tongue. " _Please,_ Chris. I can't- I _need_ them removed, _now_."

Swallowing heavily Chris lowers his head. Then he puts away his gun and takes out his knife instead, nodding. "Okay. Okay, I'll get them off of you. This is going to hurt, though. I'm sorry."

Leon doesn't speak again, just stares up at the ceiling, so after taking a strengthening breath Chris gets to work. It doesn't take long before blood flows from Leon's wrist, staining the already dirty floor as much as Chris' hands, but he continues until the lock finally gives and he can fling the godforsaken item into the shadows. Leon still remains silent, staring up into the ceiling, but Chris sees the sweat on his face, notices his clenched jaw. He grits his own teeth and starts to work on the remaining shackles, moving as fast he can, keeping in mind that this is Leon's request, reminding himself of the agonizing pain he saw as Leon begged.

When it's finally over and Leon's free it seems like they're both breathing and shaking equally as hard. But it's over, at last. It's done. Leon won't have to feel the sharp iron keeping him tethered and bound any longer.

"Are you okay?"

"Don't touch me!"

His heart twists painfully when he reaches for Leon, only for the other man to flinch away yet again. There is nothing left to stop his movements, so Leon slowly pushes himself upright with shaking arms, making Chris ache with every pained gasp and flinch he makes, drawing up his knees to his chest once he's finally in position. Chris wants to reach out, wants to help and support Leon, but he forces himself to get up on his feet instead. There was a blanket covering the boxes that he's tossed aside earlier, and he picks it up now. Shakes it, to get rid of as much of the dust and dirt as possible, then turns back to Leon who's watching him with wary eyes.

"It's okay, I'm not going to touch you," he says soothingly, lifting the blanket. "I was thinking you might want to, uh, cover up."

Leon blinks quickly, before his face twists—as though he can't settle on an expression. He makes a sound, then lowers his face, his bloodied, dirty hair hiding it from view. "Yes. Thank you."

Careful not to actually touch Leon—since that seems to set him off and Chris does _not_ want him to flail around and worsen his injuries even more—Chris hangs the blanket across Leon's shoulders. Watching Leon immediately pull at the edges of the fabric, pulling it tighter, hurts. And Chris wants nothing more than to hurt everyone who made this happen.

But they're all dead already, and Leon's bleeding and in need of medical care far above what Chris is capable of providing. Judging by his looks there's no way he'll be able to walk, but he won't let Chris touch him, and Chris doesn't know _what to do_.

The scene that met him when he entered the room still plays in his head, the disgusting groans and wet sounds still ringing in his ears. He can still see Leon's dead eyes.

Good god. They raped him. Over and over again, by the looks of his body. Beat him and raped him, and surely much more that Chris couldn't tell from the state of his body. All the while Chris sat at home, going to the office and working on boring paperwork or following insignificant leads, Leon was down here, being tortured. _Raped._

And he looks at Leon, truly looks, studies the way he's hunched over, how he's pulled the blanket tight around himself. Remembers the desperation in his eyes, his cry to not be touched, how he flinched every time Chris touched him.

At first he doesn't even realize that Leon's looking back at him, but when he does he feels guilty, as though he's been caught doing something wrong. And he looks away before Leon can, tries to think of what to do. He needs to contact Jill, send for that helicopter so they can get the fuck out of this hellhole. But it's so goddamn hard to think or do anything when all he wants to do is scream and rage.

"It's okay." It takes a moment before he realizes it was Leon who spoke, and even longer to understand what he said. Leon's hugging his knees—with his bloody hands, _God_ , all of him is covered in so much blood, and Chris made it _worse—_ and has gone back to avoiding looking at Chris. His hair still hides his face, but Chris is getting a bad feeling even without being able to see it. "You can leave. Find your partner. I'll be right behind you."

Chris shakes his head, trying not to verbalize the strong _what the fuck_ echoing in his head. "What are you talking about? I'm not leaving you, not under any circumstances."

Leon shakes his head, hugging himself closer. Chris wishes so badly he could see his face. "It's fine, you don't need to feel guilty. You've done enough; I can take care of myself now. You don't need to waste any more time here."

 _What?_ "Leon, what are you _talking_ about?"

"Please, just leave. You don't need to see- _this_ any longer than needed. It's okay, I understand. So, just- just go. It's fine. I'll be fine."

Something's definitely wrong here, and Chris is ready to rip out his own hair. The words sound all wrong, as does the tone Leon says them in. It's all wrong, just as wrong as what happened, and Chris _doesn't understand_. "Hey, Leon, talk to me. I'm not leaving you. Do you hear me? Now stop talking nonsense."

Leon keeps shaking his head, and the helplessness and frustration are already choking Chris, and he steps closer, not thinking clearly, just wanting to look Leon in the eyes so he can _understand_. But Leon's head flies up, and Chris is stopped in his track by what he sees. The words he thought earlier come back to him, and it makes so much more sense now.

God, he wishes it didn't.

"I know what you're thinking," Leon starts slowly with that ruined voice, though he clearly has _no idea_. But Chris' voice is stuck in his throat, and he can only stare as Leon's face lowers again, twisting with hate—aimed at himself, Chris finally understands. "It's disgusting. _I'm_ disgusting, because how can't I be after everything they did. I even stopped fighting them after a while, when everything hurt so bad I couldn't move or think or _breathe_. But I should have been stronger, should have fought back more. Instead I _let_ them do this to me. I _let_ them do- so many- so much- I-"

Chris' chest aches as Leon's voice breaks, and when Leon falls silent, hiding his face in his knees, he can't say a thing. He's never seen Leon like this, never seen him so openly show any sort of vulnerability. And now it's like he's been cracked open, and all the pain and self-hatred and doubts he's been carrying is bursting out.

Those bastards did this. They did it to _him,_ to _Leon_ , bright, wonderful, amazing, beautiful Leon. They hurt him, made him distrust himself, made him think of himself as if he's _broken_ , as if he's _dirty,_ as if it was _his_ fault. How the fuck _dared_ they?

"No."

Leon slowly raises his face again, but Chris doesn't see it. Doesn't see or hear or notice anything but his own hatred, and the desperate _need_ to prove Leon wrong.

"You're wrong. You're _wrong_ , and I know you're caught up in this, and you're hurting, but, fuck, normally you'd know what a load of bullshit you're spewing right now. You didn't 'let' them do anything—they hurt you, I don't know how exactly, but I can tell, and you said it yourself, you were hurting so bad you couldn't do anything. You didn't 'let' those bastards do _anything_ , because you had no choice, because those fuckers took the choice from you. And I don't see what's wrong with what you did, because it's what let you survive, isn't it? Survive until someone, someone who actually cared, could come and save you. That's not disgusting, _nothing_ about you is disgusting, and I'm pissed that you'd even- _fuck_ those fucking bastards for putting that in your head. No one would call someone disgusting if they'd been tortured, right? So why do you suddenly become disgusting if you've been raped? It's fucking bullshit, that's what it is. Nothing they've done to you changes anything, you're still the amazing Leon Kennedy I've admired for so long, the Leon I've come to truly know, and I love you just as much as I did yesterday. Hell, the fact that you're still alive, that you've managed to pull through something like this, that only shows how goddamn strong you are, and I want to scream because it's not _fair_ that you have to be this strong, over and over again. You're amazing and you deserve so much better, and if I so have to threaten the President himself I'm gonna fucking make sure that they all stop treating you like shit, like you're expendable, because you're _not_ , and I don't know what hell I'd do if you weren't around. So don't tell me to leave, because I am _not leaving you_."

When he finally runs out of words Chris just stands there, breathing hard, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. Leon stares at him silently, his face such a picture book example of shock that Chris would've teased him about it in another situation. As it is now, however, he's just recovering from his outburst, trying to think back on what he actually said. The rant was fueled by pure anger, and he didn't actually think about what came out of his mouth. Hopefully it was enough to make Leon see a bit of clarity.

"You…" Leon stops himself, still staring at Chris with wide eyes. Somehow Chris is reminded of a deer caught in headlights, and the image feels familiar, though he has no idea how or why. The thought is dropped immediately when he hears Leon's following words, however. "You love me?"

Now it's Chris' turn to stare wide-eyed, feeling how his face slowly heats up. Fuck. _Fuck_ , he hadn't meant to say that. Oh, shit. Oh, _fuck_.

But Leon's staring at him, and he's come this far. He can't just backpedal, doing so would make it seem like everything else he'd said was a lie as well. And, besides, isn't it typically the time for romantic revelations when you're reunited with the person you thought was dead? Sure, this situation is far from normal, to say the least, but it should still count. The dread Chris felt when he heard Leon might be dead tore him up. He doesn't want to imagine what regrets he might have if Leon really does die one day, and Chris had lied about his feelings.

No, it might not be the best time, is probably _definitely_ not the best time, but he can't chicken out. Not when Leon's looking at him with something other than pain, finally.

Even so, the words are far more difficult to say than they should, and Chris feels like it'd be easier to pull out his own toenails. "Yes. I do. I have for a while."

Leon blinks, following Chris with his eyes as he comes closer. He doesn't show any alarm, even when Chris kneels right next to him. "Say it. Please."

God, it is not supposed to be this goddamn hard to say a few words. To cover up his difficulty, and to give himself more time to gather strength, Chris slowly reaches out and caresses Leon's cheek, carefully, gently. "I love you, Leon."

Leon makes a choked noise, then he leans forward, hiding his face in his knees again as he sobs. Chris carefully puts his arm around Leon's shoulder, waiting for any sign that Leon doesn't want the touch, but when nothing happens he gives in and hugs the other man close. And Leon leans back against him, digs his fingers into Chris' armor, and cries openly, sobs making his whole body shake violently. Chris doesn't try to stop his own tears, just buries his face in Leon's hair and hugs him tight as they cry together.

He doesn't know how long they sit there, but Chris doesn't move until Leon's sobbing has quieted and the shaking's stopped. Not until then does he activate his earpiece, hailing Jill.

" _Finally, asshole, I was getting ready to call in the cavalry."_

Hearing Jill's voice makes Chris lose the rest of the tension he hadn't known he still carried. "I found him. He's- not in good shape. We need that helicopter ASAP."

" _Roger. There's a square in the village, can you get there?"_

He looks down at Leon and considers. "Yeah, I think so. Shouldn't be too much of a problem."

" _Good. I'll see you there soon. I'll call Hunnigan, then clean up the last of the trash before going to meet you."_

"Be careful."

" _Always am_."

Chris hears the click as Jill disconnects. He looks down at Leon again. Carefully he strokes Leon's back. "Jill's arranging for the helicopter. You can't walk, can you?"

It takes a while, but then comes Leon's quiet voice, admitting, "No."

Chris purses his lips, trying to think of something else, but gives up. "I know it's far from ideal, and you don't want to be touched much right now… but I think I'll have to carry you out of here."

"I know." Leon's quiet for an even longer while. "It's okay. Since it's you."

The words are simple, but the effect they have on Chris is almost dizzying, and he feels like if he opens his mouth he might spew out his love. After everything that happened _Leon trusts him_ , and that confirmation is everything Chris could ever want, and he would rather jump off a cliff than betray that trust. So he gathers Leon in his arms as carefully he can, making sure the blanket keeps covering him as much as possible, then walks out of the room. Leon's head rests against his shoulder, and Chris can hear his soft breathing.

It'll be different now, he swears, both to himself and to Leon. He's wasted time, time that could have been spent with Leon, time that could have been spent with Leon knowing about his true feelings—but no more. He's told Leon he loves him, and he can't feel anything but that Leon's accepted it. And he promised, several times, that he will stay by Leon's side, so that's exactly what he will do. It won't be easy, he knows that, but he will not leave. He'll do everything in his power to help Leon recover what those sick bastards tried—and failed, goddamnit, they _failed_ , thank god—to take from him. And when Leon's recovered, some day in the future, maybe there will come a day when their relationship changes.

Until that day, and long after, Chris will stay at his side. That, he swears.

**Author's Note:**

> Wanna talk, wanna chat, wanna know wtf is up with me and my fics? Wanna ask for something specific? Feel free to PM me at tumblr or twitter. Same username as here~ (I'm also way better at answering there)


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